Reimagining
by Syropeify
Summary: HQXNightwing & JXHQ, strongly based on Gotham Adventures #10 & 14, a deeper look at Harley during that period of time when she was writing Masks of Love. An adaption of her relationship with Nightwing.
1. Plots & Consequences

Author's Note: This fanfic is strongly based on Gotham Adventures #10 Mightier than the Sword and later on Gotham Adventures #14 Masks of Love. I've used the comics as a strong basis for this fic but with some deviations to look more deeply at the HQXNW romance (though in the end, staying true to JXHQ). Reviews welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Plots and Consequences

She eyed the building with a heavy sigh. It looked dank, dark and small. Signaling to her pets, she walked in, carrying only her small suitcase, her whole life packed away in neat little squares. Mr Columbine waited for her near the elevators and greeted her warmly, though she could already tell that his intentions did not fall in line with sole concern for her well-being. He motioned for her to follow him to the elevator. A man stepped out as the elevator doors opened, in a rush and desperate to hide his face. "Good afternoon, Mr Rushdie." Rushdie nodded his head to Columbine in acknowledgement and disappeared down the long hallway.

"Who was that?" She asked quietly, watching Rushdie scurry away, a trail of paper and pens behind him.

"One of my other…endangered writers. I keep him here for safe keeping, just like I'm keeping you." She followed him into the elevator, not even paying attention to the floor they were headed to.

"I don't need protecting Mr Columbine, honest." As the doors opened, he stepped out and began walking down the hall.

"The Joker was heard shouting threats about you and your book, just before he broke out…" The pets look up at Harley when his name was said. She reached down to give one a pat as they slowly lagged behind Columbine. This wasn't what she wanted.

"But…"

Columbine opened the door.

The room was bare, simplistic. A bed in one corner, a small desk squished opposite. A small window looking out onto a fire escape. Barely any room to move.

"This room and place is nice and secured. I'm not taking chances with my next best seller." He walked her through the room, showing her the essentials. She was only half listening, examining her new closed quarters. Wondering where she was going to keep her hyenas.

"Mister J…I mean the Joker…He doesn't care about me or what I do anymore. We haven't been an item for quite a while. It's mostly why I got declared sane." She stopped in front of the small mirror in her bathroom, taking in her makeshift outfit of jeans and black crop top, her red jacket barely providing any kind of weather protection. Her face clear of makeup, the wild spirit in her eyes gone. Her heart broken.

He eyed her suspiciously.

"Still, why take chances?" He turned to the desk. "Now, I've set you up with a typewriter and stocked the fridge and if you need anything, just call the front desk. You're registered under the name Elise Archer, got that?"

She turned away from the mirror, facing her new employer.

"…yeah….Archer, got it."

"Okay now, write, write write!" With that he left, closing the door behind her.

She sighed heavily, already feeling the walls of her new prison closing around her. Trading one cell for another, compliments of the Joker. She placed her suitcase down onto the bed and opened it up; dumping things onto the floor, letting her pets get comfortable on the bed. A broken picture frame fell out, cracked glass and faded memories.

She placed the frame face down and turned toward her desk, eyeing the new typewriter Columbine had left her with reluctance. Really, she should be grateful she even had a place to stay after being released from Arkham. Not many believed that she had been 'cured'. She wasn't even so sure of it herself. Flashes of friends from Arkham littered her mind. Ivy, Arnie, Ed, Crane, J-no. She would not think of him. She would not ruin this chance.

"The sooner he's out of our lives babies, the better…" She sat down at her desk and began typing. She needed to write, she needed to make an honest living. And maybe along the way she'd make some friends, get invited to their parties and start a new life. A life without his hold on her. A life of her very own.

* * *

It was dark by the time Columbine returned home. Late nights were usual for him, in his line of work of publishing at risk authors. Harley would be his next best seller, his next money maker. He fumbled with his keys, not noticing how unusually quiet it was, preoccupied with thoughts about fame and fortune. Harley Quinn-Dr Harleen Quinzel. What a story her life would make! The minute she was released Columbine had gotten in contact with her, offered her a job and a place to live. Columbine was smart, he knew that Harleen had a doctorate, that she had a brain in that blond head of hers whether or not she decided to use it. After all, it's usually geniuses who cross the border into insanity.

He jiggled the door open, walking into his hall. "Oh dear…the lights aren't working…" He mumbled to himself, flicking the dead switch. He ventured further in, taking his hat and coat off, noticing that his normal astute butler was nowhere to be found.

"Jenkins? Jenkins? Where is that Butler…." He wandered up the stairs, his voice echoing in the massive hall.

"I've given him the night off…." Columbine felt a cold hand on his shoulder, spinning him around. And there in the soft light of a single candle, a white face, yellow eyes, green hair and a menacing blood red smile. His voice caught in his throat as The Joker grasped onto him tightly. "Oh don't fret dear boy, I'm not going to kill you!" He cackled manically, tightening his grip. "I need you alive to publish my memoirs when I write them next week!" He wrapped his arm around Columbine, bringing him closer. In the light Columbine could make out his iconic purple suit. "But until then…You're going to tell me where you've stashed my little Harley Pumpkin or things could get nasty…you read me?" Joker let out a high pitched laugh as he dug his fingers into Columbine's shoulders, the cold hard barrel of a gun pressing against his back.

At this moment, Columbine realized an ugly and detrimental truth to survival in Gotham City: nobody messes with Harleen Quinn other than the Joker.

* * *

Harley awoke rested, having slept soundly during the night. Ignoring the chaotic mess of the room, she quietly lifted herself from her bed to avoid waking up the babies. _It's gotta be six in the morning…_

She felt in better spirits than yesterday. She had accomplished a large amount of writing, allowing herself to be focused instead of muddled and frenzied. She walked over to the window to lift the curtins and let in the morning light, maybe she'd take a break and go outside to get some fresh air-

"Good Morning." Harley fell backwards, her heart racing in a state of shock.

"Mind if we come in?" There, on her fire escape stood a stoic Nightwing and a rather good humoured and currently hanging upside down accomplice Robin, whichever version of Robin was running around Gotham these days. She quickly composed herself and turned away.

"No, get lost! I'm a regular citizen now; I have a certificate and everything…" It sounded in her head as stupid as it did coming out of her mouth, but she didn't care. She was tired of being harassed by people. Everybody thinking she couldn't take care of herself. "That means I don't have to put up with you, or the B-man anymore!" At this point Nightwing and Robin had crawled through her fire escape, taking mental notes of their surroundings. Nightwing turned his attention to Harley.

"With simple detective work we managed to track you down in a matter of ours, the Joker could do the same…Harley you need our protection!" She turned away from him, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She didn't want or need their protection; she could handle herself well on her own and she was going to make that clear to them. She swiftly spun around to face Nightwing, pushing him backwards and pressing her finger right into his chest.

"Listen Buster, Me and Mister J are through, you hear?! He's not interested in little old me; he's got better things to do. Got it?" Even saying it seemed dishonest; she knew deep down that she wanted him to be interested in her, in what she was doing, even if it meant he was going to kill her.

"I don't agree. Robin and I are going to stick around to keep you safe, or move you someplace safer."

"It's for your own good Quinn." The little brat had to speak up. She had had enough.

"I though the whole point of my being declared sane…was so I could start making my own decisions!" She grabbed the nearest item, a plunger and slammed it right into Nightwing's face. This was enough to wake up her beloved hyenas as she jumped out the window. "Keep them busy for mama babies!"

She knew they'd be okay. They were always okay. The wind felt good as she climbed up the stairs. Her muscles were restricted, lacking in their smoothness, their graceful acrobatics. It had been so long since she had last really used her body in such a way. The risks, the daring moves. So long since she had used a fence as a balance beam, a rooftop as a vault, a telephone wire as an uneven bar…She shook her head. She couldn't go back there. Not anymore. Not if she wanted to kick her habit, rid herself of her demon, her only demon…

"Hello…." There, at the top of the roof, the purple pants, the lean but muscular frame, the looming grin and the cold, hard eyes. "Read any good books lately…..Harley?"

The Joker.


	2. Typewriter Melancholy

Author's Note: This fanfic is strongly based on Gotham Adventures #10 Mightier than the Sword and later on Gotham Adventures #14 Masks of Love. I also bring in elements of the Harley Quinn & Gotham Sirens comic series (specifically her backstories). I've used the comics as a strong basis for this fic but with some deviations to look more deeply at the HQXNW romance (though in the end, staying true to JXHQ). Reviews welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Typewriter Melancholy**

There, in her line of vision, towering over her with his trademark smile. She could feel her heart fluttering, both in fear and adoration. He looked just as good as he did on the day they were arrested again, placed into Arkham, separated by walls and glass. She bit back her urge to run towards him, willing the only sane part left in her body to walk away.

But she was too late, as he grabbed her and pulled her up onto the roof, wrapping his hands tightly around her neck. His cold eyes looked deep into hers; that smile…

"I'm going to wring your neck in a minute…you naughty girl…" She saw a swift shadow of red and green behind him, but knew that he would have already sensed Robin a mile away. "After a quick bratwurst!" He swung and let go, her falling hard onto the rough tiles of the roof. "Come on Brat, do your worst!" She watched for a moment, Robin sprayed with the laughing gas, the Joker laughing in hysterics.

She took that moment of insanity to run and hide, letting her instincts take over, hopping over fallen beams and broken glass, finding refuge in a dark corner on the roof opposite to her building.

"Harley! Harley! Come out come out! Daddy can't kill you if he can't find you…" She placed her hand over her mouth, trying to calm her erratic breathing. She could tell he may be serious, and contemplated her options. She could leave now, find somewhere safe and secure. Forget about writing her book. But she would have to go back and get her things. Either way, she needed to wait. She knew him, knew his level of patience. Soon he would grow bored and find other things, better things to spend his time on.

* * *

Robin was laughing manically as Nightwing struggled to administer the antidote to Joker's venom. His shaking body rendered it difficult, and eventually Nightwing managed to jab the needle into Robin's arm. They had landed in a heap of arms and legs, tangled as Robin's voice; strangled with glee, made obvious observations about their inability and lack of time to catch the Joker.

Nightwing waited with Robin for a moment, counting the seconds for the antidote to work. He could hear Joker's coaxing from above. He hoped Harleen was strong enough not to take the bait, or at least get away.

"Robin, I have to go, I have to make sure she's okay. You wait here, I'll be right back for you."

As he ascended the fire escape stairs, creaking noisily in his urgency, he hoped she had gotten away.

* * *

She had waited over an hour, the sun higher in the sky, warming the morning chill. Surely he would be gone by now, his patience wearing thin. She stood up, her back aching, her arms and hands numb. Quietly, she hopped over the small gap between the two roofs, slowly making her way back down the fire escape. Carefully she climbed back through her window-

"What. Is. This?!" There he was, perched on her bed, thumbing through her latest work, his eyes ablaze with a fury that she knew would end in her beating. She stood silent, willing her brain to come up with something, anything to get her out of this situation. Where had Robin and Nightwing gone? She needed them now, was she really alone? "This is not your autobiography Harley." His face skewed up in a look of bewilderment. "It's a romance novel!"

"You shouldn't believe everything you see on Tv…." She backed away slowly. "It's a 'Harley-Quinn' Romance…get it? I couldn't resist!" He turned his attention to her, his eyes narrowed in cold hatred. He reached out and pushed her down across the desk, looming over her, one hand holding her down, the other clutching a torn piece of her book. In another place, another time, she would have relished this moment, his body pressing against hers. She would have to rewrite that section…

"About a female master criminal who falls in love with a cape crime….Named Owlman?!" He turned away, taking the next chapter and reading through its content. Carefully she sat up, watching him for a moment. She could feel her reserve slipping away. He hadn't tried to kill her yet. Maybe he was genuinely interested…she took that moment to walk up behind him, wrapping her hand around his shoulder. She shouldn't have. She knew that. But she just wanted to touch him.

"You're the first to read it. It's called Masks of Love….what, what do you think?" She held her breath, waiting. Always waiting for his approval.

She went flying across the floor, the power behind the sting of his slap excruciating. She should have expected it.

"This is the worst thing you've ever done to me!" To him? She didn't understand. When she didn't respond, he kicked the chair, sending it crashing into the wall behind her, splints of wood and broken bones. "A story about you, and…and Batman?!" Was he really jealous? Did the love of her life actually care?

"Owlman…It's fiction, it's not real life." Her body throbbed with fear and hope. Maybe they could reconcile, maybe things could change, maybe he could change…

"Like that matters Harley? That's not what people will think! Everyone will be laughing at me!" He shoved the desk, trapping her into the corner.

"I thought that was good, people laughing at you…" His eyes grew darker, colder, the scowl on his face deeper. In that moment she realized, he didn't love her, he wasn't jealous, he didn't care that she had written a romance that paralleled her and batman. It was that she had at one stage belonged to him, listened to him, obeyed him. At one stage, he was her whole world and everybody knew. And now, now she was defying him, embarrassing him, humiliating him. He didn't care about her. He only cared about his reputation, he only cared about himself.

"With you, people are supposed to laugh with you." He pressed up against the desk, holding her down. "I don't understand you Harley…How could you be around me all these years, and just never get it?" He picked up her typewriter, holding it above his head, ready to smash it down onto hers. "And after all those times I tried to rub off on you…" He mused. "Well Gertude Stain….you're going to get it now." She closed her eyes, preparing for the worst, shielding her body as best she could. And then…

His shadow was no longer looming over her, threatening her. She opened her eyes to see him crawling on the floor, scratching at every part of his body that he could reach, moaning in agony. "What is it will all this itching?! It's unbearable! Harley, could you scratch my back for Daddy…" She watched him curiously as he withered on the floor, pushing the desk away from the wall and hoping onto it.

"I can't imagine what could be causing this Mister J…." She pondered for a moment. Itching. Ivy. Posion Ivy. His escape. He must have used some method of Ivy's to escape. "Unless you came into contact with one of Poison Ivy's giant beanstalks in the last twenty-four hours…" A flash of recognition across his face. "That's it, isn't it?" He must have tricked Ivy somehow. Ivy would have never have helped him on her own. She loathed him, the Joker. As Harley watched him squirm, she realized this was her moment. Her moment to change things. To end things. She took a deep breath and summoned her courage.

"You want scratching puddin'? Well how about this!" She kicked him hard in the stomach. "For that time you kicked me out of your gang!" Another kick, harder, making him wince and laugh all the same. "And this for that time you were going to drop an atomic bomb on me and the babies!" A third kick, him laughing harder. "And this…" She grabbed her typewriter, high above her head, her foot holding him down against his throat, tears streaming from her eyes. "This is because you never really loved me…"


	3. Black Rain

Author's Note: This fanfic is strongly based on Gotham Adventures #10 Mightier than the Sword and later on Gotham Adventures #14 Masks of Love. I also bring in elements of the Harley Quinn & Gotham Sirens comic series (specifically her backstories). I've used the comics as a strong basis for this fic but with some deviations to look more deeply at the HQXNW romance (though in the end, staying true to JXHQ). Reviews welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 3: Black Rain**

"Dr Quinzel…?" Nightwing stood at the window, watching her, watching the Joker. The typewriter over her head, tears gushing from her eyes, ready to smash the clown. The Joker sprawling on the floor. A strange sight. Almost a welcomed sight. He took a step forward. "Here…Let me take that…" Slowly he coaxed the typewriter from her hands, placing it gently down on the desk.

"Okay…I won't do it…I won't end up back at Arkham…" She turned away from him, from them, one hand holding her neck, the other wrapped protectively around her stomach. Breathing heavily, she closed her eyes, willing her rage to disappear, pushing herself into a calmer state. Nightwing bent down and roughly grabbed the Joker, handcuffing him tightly. "Just take him away; I don't ever want to see that lunatic again as long as I live…."

"What, just because I said I wanted to kill you? Come on baby…you used to love that!" Nightwing slapped him in the face, just to shut him up. He turned his attention back to Harley, her body shaking, desperately trying to get into control of herself. He had never seen her like this, this moment. She was breaking, he could see that.

"Are you alright Dr. Quinzel?" He dragged the Joker towards the window, pushing him through it.

"I'm all right…" Nightwing took that moment to leave, taking the Joker with him. He couldn't stay, or things could get worse. He had to get the Joker back while he was incapacitated.

He took him back to Arkham, dumping him unceremoniously on the hard floor of Joker's cell, not taking chances by leaving him just with the wardens. Robin had caught up to them, his usual perky self,babbling on about how well he had tied up Harley's pets. Nightwing barely heard it.

"Revoke him of all his privileges." He gave Joker another kick. He knew it was wrong, out of character, would not go well with Bruce. But he saw in that moment how much the Joker affected Harley, destroyed her, maimed her. All he wanted to do was beat the living shit out of him.

* * *

She was alone. Nothing hurt but her pride. Nothing broken but her heart. She bent down onto the floor and untied her babies, stroking their fear and cooing to them softly. They were shaken up from the events, she could see that. She slowly began to clean up her room, picking up broken glass from the floor, broken pieces of her heart. All she had wanted was to start a new life of her own, a life devoid of men like Nightwing and Robin, of caped crusaders and masked villains. She just wanted to show everyone that she could do it, that she didn't need help, didn't need saving. She was tired of everyone thinking she needed to be saved, from Batman, from The Joker, from herself.

Later, as the sun set, the babies fed but her own stomach empty, her head throbbing but her room finally tidy, she sat down her bed. Staring at the typewriter, she pondered whether she should continue writing her book. If it was worth it. If she could even be bothered. Everyone was expecting her autobiography, secrets and tales of her life with _him. _So she had started writing something different, something that would take her mind off the pain, to take her away from thoughts of him. Something absurd.

"Dr Quinzel." She turned her head, there perched at her window was Nightwing.

"Haven't you done enough….?" She turned away, closing her eyes. "Maybe if I shut my eyes and keep them shut you'll fuck off…" She was exhausted, mentally, emotionally. All she wanted to do was block out the rest of the world.

"Dr Quinzel, I just came to check up on you." He took notice of the room, the neat and tidy composure. She had cleaned up. He couldn't figure her out. Not really. One moment a place of chaos, the next of order. There was a lot more to Dr. Quinzel then she let on, that the world had let on.

"I don't need to be checked up on, I'm fine. Go. Away." He stepped inside.

"The Joker tried to murder you Dr. Quinzel…"

"Call me Harley. Or Harleen. I think we're past the formalities. And that's normal for him, when is he not trying to murder me?" She sighed, opening her eyes, a vision of black and blue before her.

"What do you see in him?" It was a pointless question really. Everyone asked it, they never got a straight answer. But today, Harley couldn't be bothered to sugar-coat it. Not to him.

"Because I am just like him." She placed her head in her hands. Just like him, exactly like him…

"Harleen, you're a psychiatrist, a doctor. You have a PhD…how are you like the Joker? He is a twisted, sick individual, bent on murdering people for his own amusement. You are nothing like him, you're just…" He stopped. She looked at Nightwing. He didn't understand. His mind was too focused on justice, on good and evil. He just didn't understand.

"I am just like him. You may think he twisted my mind, turned poor little innocent Dr Harleen Quinzel into the monster that I was-that I am….But you don't understand. I was always that way, and he could see it." She looked down onto her lap, the scars around her wrists faded, the bruises long gone. Faded, just as her memories were. Nightwing didn't know whether he should press her further. Despite the local perception, he knew there was intelligence to Harleen, even Bruce had said so. So what did she have that the Joker could see, that he could warp and use to his advantage?

"Harleen, I don't understand. How…" He paused, could he really ask?

"How am I like him?" She looked up, her frazzled hair falling into her eyes. Then she laughed. A deep laugh, tainted with sadness, with bitterness. "I killed my first love. Long before I met…before I met _him." _ She turned away, her eyes watching the world outside her window.

Nightwing had no response to that. What could he possibly say to console her? She gave him no further explanation, of what had happened, who he was and why she did it. Maybe she didn't even have a reason. She started crying then, softly, quietly, barely noticeable. Logic told him to leave, to not get involved. But there was something about the way she was breaking down, something so familiar…

"Harleen….Harley." He sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her. She probably didn't have anyone other than the Joker, so isolated. She didn't move away. He had heard tales of her and Ivy, but he preferred not to listen to such gossip. Really, he should hate her. Hate the damage she's done to the city. Hate her indirectly for the pain and trauma her lover inflicted on Barbara. But in this moment she seemed fragile, ready to break completely.

"Do you think I want to love him? Is that what everyone thinks? That I have a choice?" She was angry again, her moods shifting so dangerously that he had to be careful. Tears flowing down her cheeks, streaks of black. "You don't understand…I don't have a choice. You never have a choice when it comes to something like this, something so bonded and connected, so deep and twisted that you'll never get out. I can't breathe without him, and I can't breathe with him. I am forever choking and gasping for air." He understood, in a strange way. In a different way. That feeling. For him it was revenge, revenge for the death of his parents. Anger at the paralysis of Barbara. The heartbreak of Kori. Harley was like him, not like the Joker. She was hurt, she was in pain. She was being continuously tortured and starved for affection, for love.

Maybe it was that mutual understanding of pain, of suffering. Later he would question why he did it, what did it mean. But at this moment, he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure what prompted him to lean over and kiss her.


	4. Chaos Theory

_Author's Note: This fanfic is strongly based on Gotham Adventures #10 Mightier than the Sword and later on Gotham Adventures #14 Masks of Love. I also bring in elements of the Harley Quinn & Gotham Sirens comic series (specifically her backstories). I've used the comics as a strong basis for this fic but with some deviations to look more deeply at the HQXNW romance (though in the end, staying true to JXHQ). If you read/have read the Harley Quinn series, her backstory includes a relationship with a young man named Guy who is studying Chaos theory. Although Chaos theory can be interdisciplinary, I'm making the assumption that Guy is studying it from a philosophical and mathematical perspective. _

Reviews welcome, constructive criticism welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy! I don't own anything.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Chaos Theory**

She was laughing. Tears running down her face, hands holding her stomach laughing. Moments before he had pulled away from her, shocked and mumbling incoherent apologies. For second she had looked at him, surprise etched into her face. And then she had started laughing uncontrollably. But there was bitterness to this laughter, something deeply unsettling about the whole situation that Grayson was finding himself in. "Why are you laughing Harleen?"

She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, shaking her head in a movement of defeat. When she looked up at him, she smiled acrimoniously. "Chaos theory." She turned away again, standing up and moving towards her desk.

"I don't understand." How deep was he willing to get into this with her? Reason dictated that he should leave now before things got worse.

"A field of study. Chaos theory. Intersects many fields, science, math, philosophy, politics….Stephen Kellert once defined it as the 'the qualitative study of unstable aperiodic behavior in deterministic nonlinear dynamical systems.'" She sat down at her desk, placing her head in her hands, laughing again.

"Harleen-"

"It's all chaos. You can't control anything…best you can do is be the snowball that starts the avalanche. The atom that starts the chain reaction. Guy knew that…Joker knows that." Grayson stood up quietly. Watching her unfold, break down.

"You and I are part of a system, an opposing system. You are the hero, the vigilante, and I am the villian. Here we are, two opposing forces that should behave in certain ways, predictable ways, structure and order." She stood up, bracing herself against the desk. "Don't you see? _He _gets it. _He_ understands it. We fake control, structure, discipline. We pretend that there are rules, and that actions have consequences. But the only consequence is the absurdity of the absurd."

She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close in. He was almost mesmerized by her words, her intellect, her knowledge. Almost. "You and I are expected to behave in certain ways, ways that make people feel safe, comfortable. You and I are expected to maintain boundaries between normalcy and lunacy, between everyday society and underground communities, between ourselves." She pressed up against him and lifted herself on the toes of her feet, effortlessly, her lips close to his. "But chaos theory proves that all of our attempts to control and regulate this world is for naught. And you kissing me, that proves chaos theory…" She kissed him then, hard, passionately. But before he had a chance to respond, she pushed him away, cackling. "And me kissing you? Well it's just icing on the cake isn't it?" She walked away then, sitting back at the desk, her fingers hammering manically on the typewriter. "Dynamical instability…" she murmured. His presence no longer on her radar. Grayson watched her for a moment, pondering whether he should take her back to Arkham, the intensity of her kiss still lingering on his lips.

As he made his way to the window, he hands clutching the panel, Harley turned her attention away from the typewriter, capturing his black frame in her periphery. "Come back anytime Nightwing, if you feel inclined to…" He leapt from the window into the cool night.

She turned back to her typewriter, staring blankly at the mess of symbols on the page. Words, language. String it together and it means something, change the order, change the symbol…She shook her head, riding herself of her dazed moment of intellectual lunacy. She was losing her grip again. She wasn't going to fail this time. Didn't want to fail this time. Wanted to prove to everyone that she could do this. She glanced over towards the windows, the curtains blowing softly in the night breeze, previously occupied by Nightwing. She wondered if he felt as dark as she did some days.

* * *

"I don't understand Dr Leland. Don't all interviews have to be videotaped?"

A dreary place, Arkham Asylum. Grayson never particularly enjoyed the minimum time he had to spend there on occasion. Patients coaxed into therapy, foes avoiding jail. He did; however, wanted answers about Harleen. And the first place, the only place he could do that was at Arkham. Scanning Bruce's files did not give him enough information about her. They only spoke briefly of her past and instead concentrated on her exploits once she become entangled with the Clown Prince of Crime. He needed her history, her past, her psyche. So he went to Dr Joan Leland, the first doctor to meet Harleen. The last one to treat her.

"Yes, but unfortunately, the tapes of Dr Quinzel's sessions with The Joker are missing. I'm not sure if they've been destroyed, but we only have access to the first few sessions. After that, we have nothing." She pulled out a small, worn video cassette from a box entitled 'Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quin' and placed it in his hands. "This is the closest we've been able to unpack anything in terms of their interviews, but its most likely information you know already." She took it from his hands and placed it into the VCR, the screen buzzing to life in black and white.

There sat the Joker, ageless, a blank expression painted on his face. Harleen's voice providing the narration of the story, asking him questions, the Joker remaining silent. Grayson watched intently as Harleen attempted to persuade the Joker into talking to her, joking, giving them common ground. There, in a flash of a moment, the Joker had her pinned down to the desk, hands wrapped tightly around her throat. Then he stopped, and the tape ended.

"That doesn't give me much about Harleen, Dr. Leland. That's a better insight to the Joker than it is Dr Quinzel..."

"No, I suppose it doesn't. But you have to understand, Harleen is smart, intelligent. She graduated at the top of her class at Gotham University. She was there on a gymnastics scholarship."

"I know all of the, but what made her suddenly crack? Could the Joker really have **that **much of a hold on her?" He glanced towards the screen, the video replaying in a loop. Harleen on the desk, the Joker choking, then stopping. Again and again.

"Well, Harleen didn't have much of a childhood I would imagine. To get a gymnastics scholarship for University with the promise of the Olympics would mean that she would have had to have studied intensely at a young age. I'd imagine she spent her youth in camps and her teen years studying in gymnastics academies."

"What does that mean?" Dr Leland turned her focus away from Grayson and back onto the screen of Joker choking Harleen.

"It means her whole youth, her whole life until she met the Joker was controlled, rigid, structured. She was placed in a life of discipline, in which certain actions rendered objective consequences and results. If she ate fatty foods, she'd gain weight and that would disrupt her gymnastics training. If she failed to practice a routine a specific way, she would injure herself." She pulled a heavy file from her cabinet, flipping through its contents. Whisks of images of Harley, the Joker, blood.

"Then she went to university, and all of that shifted into a discipline of studying and research, highly controlled environments to determine particular results. Psychology is a very structured discipline, rules and regulations in highly volatile environments. I'm not surprised that Harleen was attracted to psychology to be honest. Or the Joker. He is everything that she could not be, but was. Harleen was in deep with him because he gave her a break from her life of discipline and control. The Joker offers chaos, uncertainty, instability, insanity. The Joker gives her everything she has spent a life of trying to avoid." Dr Leland turned away from the scree, bringing her hand to her forehead to ease the tension building. It dawned on him then. The realization.

"Dr Leland, you don't think Harleen will be able to make it, do you?" She looked up at him, a sadness in her eyes.

"I have to be optimistic about my patients, about any patient's ability to recover. But…Harleen is too smart for her own good unfortunately. She will regress because she views rules and regulations as pathetic attempts to structure a disorderly universe. She sees beyond the necessity of control, of good and evil. Her psychosis… if we could even call it that, manifests in destruction and death. That is why she loves the Joker. That is why she will probably return to him. And we'll have a consistent cycle of her recovery and his sometimes impenetrable hold on her."

"Dr Leland, why bother then to have her go through recovery if you think she'll keep relapsing." Dr. Leland smiled softly.

"Because I believe in the ability for her to be better, even for a short time. I believe that one day she'll be able to walk away from everything and find balance. Balance is what Harleen needs, what she does not understand. She has spent her youth in excess of control and is now binging on disorder and destruction. One day, I hope that she will find her balance. But until then, we'll have a cycle of her 'sanity' by socially defined standards and her 'insanity." Grayson narrowed his eyes.

"Dr Leland, are you suggesting that Harleen is not or has not had an episode of insanity?"

"Insanity is a loaded term at best, Nightwing. After all, we could easily diagnose you as insane or your partner…" A knowing smile graced her lips.

"What about the Joker?"

"The Joker is not insane. He's a calculated, manipulative genius who chooses to destroy instead of help. He's not sane by acceptable standards but he is not insane. We cannot treat him; we just keep here as long as we can before he wreaks havoc again." She pulled her glasses away from her face and rubbed her eyes, signaling exhaustion.

"I don't agree with you Dr Leland. I think he's insane."

"Technically then, so are you." Grayson took that moment to leave her dank office, her words ringing in his head.

Distracted, he wandered down the extended hallway, glancing into the cells of Arkham's most notorious inmates. Walls bleeding of desperation. Jervis mumbling incoherent scientific theories, the floor of his cell littered with fantastical depictions of young girls. Edward quietly filling out crossword puzzles. Ivy huddled in the corner of her own prison, desperately grasping at the little light her window gave her. He wondered if he would end up here like them. Caged in glass.

"Hello bird-boy….. I hear you've been asking about my little lady." He turned his gaze towards the last occupied cell-block. There, appearing apathetic and disinterested was the Joker, a trace of a smirk etched on his lips, a mischievous glint in his hardened eyes.


	5. Masquerades and Handsprings

_Author's Note: As we know Harley has a background in gymnastics, but I find most fanfics (and comics) seem to focus more on her clinical psychiatry background. I thought it would be good to explore this a bit more. I'd like to imagine that Harley as gymnast would be comparable to Nadia Comaneci who competed in the 1970s (see youtube). When you watch Nadia, her movements are effortless, flawless, done with ease. She has such a fluid way of competing that it's absolutely beautiful, and I think Harley would be quite similar to her, as opposed to a bit more structured and rigid (see Aliya Mustafina 2010 who is also incredible but her routines are just that slightly more rigid and structured, but still amazing). _

Reviews welcome, constructive criticism welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy! I don't own anything.

**Chapter 5: Masquerades and Handsprings**

The chalk on her hands was a welcoming, familiar feeling. She took a moment to really maintain it, that fresh sensation of the dry powder spread across the palms and sinking into the creases that signified life patterns and future relations. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the emotion overcome her, calming her mind and sharpening her senses. She didn't realize until now how much she had missed this. This space, this form of self-control and discipline. It had been a few years since she had been in a place such as this. The florescent high ceiling lighting. The padded floors. Beams and vaults at her mercy. Trampolines and rings to cater to her whims.

She turned her attention to the uneven bars. One of her favourites in her old days of competing. She loved the unpredictability of them. The constant motions and movements. Never stopping. The springboard ready. She had grabbed a coaching gig at a low-end Gotham city gymnastics club in an unsavory part of town. The highly prolific academies didn't even want to look at her due to her history at Arkham. This particular joint; however, was just a cover for some money laundering side project of the Penguin's. Most of the students that showed any promised were sent off to the better academies. The ones that didn't stayed and provided an excellent cover for back door dealings. With a bit of begging and cajoling, Penguin gave her a job of coaching the students. Something to keep her busy and out of trouble.

In return for her coaching, he gave her full access to the gym. This she took advantage of when no one else was around. This was a place for her to ease her mind and allow her body to take over. She took a deep breath and ran towards the springboard, effortlessly lifting into the air as her hands quickly grasped the higher bar. She pulled herself into a few steady swings, letting the weight of her body provide the speed. She eased into some back giants before her body began to mimic an old routine from her competing days. Overshoots leading into straddleback handstands. Slick movements, circling the bars, she attempted a _geinger_ and landed poorly, catching the bar unsteadily. She would have to work on that one. She eased into some tap swings and pirouettes, relishing in the feeling of her body circling the bars. Letting go she completed a double-flyaway and landed strongly but off balanced. The motion of soaring sending her senses into euphoria for that brief moment. This is where she belonged. She couldn't remember why she had been avoiding this before. This is where she was at home.

* * *

Nightwing remained silent. Despite the thick glass between them, the starch-white, uniformed clothing that hung off of Joker's thin frame suggesting weakness and malnourishment, the Joker still maintained an air of arrogance, superiority. He was still a man to be feared.

"I can't blame you really. She's a lovely little piece of ass if I do say so myself." The Joker stood from his bed, casually strolling towards Grayson. "Though I have to say, I'm not sure how I feel about the likes of you sniffing around her." A laugh echoed in the room. Menacing. A smirk etched on Joker's face.

"I'm just keeping an eye out for her. After all, you tried to kill her." Nightwing stood definitely, not ready to let the likes of the Joker get to him.

"It's all fun and games really."

"Taking someone's life is not a game Joker." The Joker bared his teeth.

"Isn't it bird boy? But alas, I do not expect someone such as you to understand the complexities of our higgledy-piggledy universe." A stare-off now.

"I think you should just leave her alone. She's trying to get better." If only Grayson understood the detriment he had just placed her in.

"There is no better." His eyes. It was his eyes. Grayson could see something so dark and alive in his eyes. Maybe Dr Leland was right. Maybe the Joker was not insane but just on a completely different level then the rest of them. After all, wasn't Batman? And by extension, wasn't he himself similar?

"Why Dr Quinzel?" A cackle.

"Really? Of all the things to ask! Why Dr Quinzel indeed. Well…"He paused, narrowing his eyes to match the foreboding grin on his face. He was up close to the glass now, the Joker. "Why not?" Was it really that simple? Did she really not mean anything? Grayson was tempted to believe that.

"So you don't care what happens to her then." A trick question. Maybe he could attempt to peer inside Joker's head.

"Of course I care about what happens to my **things.** Nobody likes it when their things are used without their permission, or wrecked unless they've done the damage themselves…." Still smiling. Redirecting her as an object and not a person. Whatever information he had thought he could get was for naught. "Wouldn't YOU care if someone cut holes in that black and blue spandex of yours? Can't get to your aerobics class if that were to happen."

"I have plenty of suits."

"I'm sure you do." Silence again.

"You don't need her. You should just leave her alone."

"On the contraire my dear boy, I believe that she **needs** me. And oh… how delightfully delicious that can be…" He licked his lips then, giving Grayson a subtle wink. "Is that what you're interested in? Harley is…quite the gymnast in the bedroom. Great kisser…" A dark blush crept up Grayson's neck. The memory of Harleen kissing him in that brief moment sent beads of sweat down his face. He wished he wore a cowl instead of the eye mask. "So that's it. The little bird-boy wants to tap my little lady. Well, well well! What an interesting turn of events!" He pressed himself up against the glass. "Have you been thinking about my little Harley? All naked and withering?" He narrowed his eyes. "Do you think she's been thinking about you little Robin? About what it would be like?"

"N-no. I'm not interested in Harleen in that respect. I'm just looking out for her. It's my duty." Grayson backed away from the glass. He was letting the Joker get the best of him.

"Until the mask comes off, and then you'll be in a heap of trouble, won't you little Robin?" Joker stepped back from the glass, crossing his hands behind his back. "It's really not fair you know, when you think about it. Everyone knows who I am, who Harley is. We don't wear masks to hide our identities. **We** are the honest ones. And yet we're the ones labeled the villains, the bad guys." He turned his attention away from Grayson. "You wear a mask and everybody loves you. Maybe I should have thought of that. What do you think? A nice green and purple one. With sequins and feathers. That would be rather fetching!"

"We don't kill people. That's what makes us different."

"Yet you wear a mask. What are you so afraid of? Do you think the mask protects you from labels of insanity?" The Joker leaned forward, an eyebrow raised to match the darkening smirk on his face. "I think you do. I think deep down you know that if you didn't have that mask, you'd be locked up in one of these cells, just like me. After all…how can anyone who runs around in this shithole of a city in spandex and capes be legally sane?" Grayson watched him intently, refusing to answer. Battling the inner demons wreaking havoc in his mind. With a triumphant smile, Joker turned his back to Grayson, hands locked behind him, whistling nonchalantly.

"Well bird-boy, I really must be off, things to do you know. Lovely chat, we should do this again sometime." Feeling dismissed, Grayson turned to walk away. "Say hello to Barbara for me!"

* * *

He watched her for a few moments, hidden in the corner shadows of the darkened gym. Had been there for a while, mesmerized by her movements, her grace. Flawless. If she was making any mistakes, Grayson could not easily see. An art form, gymnastics. He used to just appreciate the skills necessary to achieve such masterful moves. But Harleen took it to a level of fluidity. Almost ethereal, in the way she flew through the bars. When she landed on the ground, he could see the pleasured etched into her face. Harleen may be a psychiatrist, an ex-criminal, maybe even psychotic. But he could see that this place was one space in which she truly belonged, where she really shined. He took that moment of her tranquility to step out of the darkened corner.

"Very impressive Dr Quinzel." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Not breaking her concentration, she executed a smooth back 5/2 twist and landed perfectly on the soles of her feet.

"Harley. As I've said before, we're past the formalities now." She hopped onto the beam with her hands, balancing with her legs split horizontally for a moment before pulling herself into a handstand, then easing into a simple step out.

"Harleen." He couldn't call her Harley. They did not speak for a few moments, Harley practicing various back handsprings and other complicated skills. After his run in with the Joker, Grayson felt uneasy about their conversation and had to find Harleen. To make sure she was okay.

Grayson noticed her face was different. He did not see the pleasure she gained from flying through the bars. Rather, it was one of determined concentration. Although her movements mimic those on the floor and bars, he observed the way in which she took extra seconds to perform.

The balance beam did not seem to be Harley's favourite area of gymnastics.

"So what are you doing here?" She laid down on the beam, stretching out sore muscles.

"This place belongs to the Penguin." She sighed. Of course he'd know that.

"So? It's the only place that would give me a job." Grayson narrowed his eyes.

"Harleen you're just going to get yourself in trouble again. You realize that you can jeopardize your newfound freedom from Arkham by working for a known criminal?" She arched her back into a one-handed bridge, her body threatening to fall off the narrow beam.

"Jeeze louise Nightwing, you're such a downer." She swung her body around to face him, stretching her legs into a straddle split. "This is the only place I could get a job doing something I'm half-decent at." Trying to be humble. She knew she was good, especially after receiving that special dose of whatever it was Ivy gave her. "And anyways, I'm doing this to stay out of trouble." She balanced on her hands, pushing herself into another straddle handstand.

"How is working for the Penguin staying out of trouble?" She stepped out and stood defiantly. "It was either this, or becoming one of his…" She paused and shuddered. "Lady of the nights…" She dismounted then in a flourish of flips and spins, landing just slightly off balance. "No one will hire me Nightwing. No one will take a look at me. And even though I'm writing that book, I'm not getting enough money to live off. So I needed something to fill the hours and pay the bills. This is the best I could do without going on a rampage." He watched her chalk her hands, her chest rising with the deep breath she took to envelop the scent.

"You don't seem to like the balance beam very much." He changed the subject.

"What makes you say that?" She flopped down on the blue matts, stretching out her legs.

"Your face." He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. She had a love-hate relationship with the beam. Good days. Bad days. Neutral days. The beam seemed to reflect her own chaos in her head, the balance she tried desperately to both hold on to and to break at every opportunity.

"The bane of my career I could say…" She laid down on her back and motioned for him to come closer. "My legs please." She lifted one high up in the air, allowing Nightwing to take hold and stretch it back against her as far as it would go. A compromising position, little Harley Quinn had him in. He could feel the faint stir in his loins as his body pressed against hers.

"Why didn't you continue? You're very good…" She winced slightly at the pain of the stretch.

"I'm not very good at following orders. I used to get in trouble a lot, making up routines instead of carefully executing the ones for competition. Sometimes I blurr the gender binaries. Rings, parallel bars and the pommel horse are meant for men. But I was often caught playing around on them when I should have been working hard on the beam, or vault….Other leg." They switched, Nightwing pressing her leg as far as it could go into the stretch. "Plus I really liked psychology. I didn't have the money to study at University without that gymnastics scholarship, so I took the only chance I had and applied it to something that I wanted." She pushed him away with her leg and stood up, bending back down to touch her toes. A gymnast in the bedroom. Joker's voice echoing in his head. What would she be like? Wanton? Needy? He wanted to find out.

"What are you doing here Nightwing. I've told you before, I don't need protecting. I can take care of myself."

"I can see that." She stood up, stretching her arms high above her head.

"You can leave then, I don't need you here. If Penguin finds out he'll kick me out. I need this." Grayson took a step forward.

"I won't try and take this away from you Harleen." He cupped her face in his hands. She didn't shy away, but stood definitely. Instinct screamed at him to walk away immediately, but he could not shake the image that the Joker so readily placed into his head.

"What are you doing?" Big blue eyes. Pouty full lips. Just begging…just once. He needed to do this just once.

"This…" Holding her chin steady, he kissed her.


	6. Art Deco Paradise

Author's Note: My apologies for such delays, I work as a TA and marking essays and exams takes over your life when you're not working on your thesis (which I should be doing!) Good news is chapter 7 is almost complete and hopefully should be up soon after. Thank you to everyone with their lovely reviews :)

Reviews welcome, constructive criticism welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy! I don't own anything.

**Chapter 6: Art Deco Paradise**

_She traced her fingers along the prison walls. Breathing in their scent. If she tried hard enough, she could almost smell him, maybe one lick to taste him-_

She awoke with a start, sweat beading down her face. Dreams and memories complicated in her mind. Sometimes she had problems distinguishing reality from fiction, truth from fantasy. She was back in her shoebox of an apartment, her hyenas sleeping soundly at her feet on the bed. No light from the moon shone through her window tonight. She sat up gradually, whipping the beads of moisture trailing down her cheeks. She couldn't remember how she got here, but she was in dire need of some fresh air. Carefully, she swung her feet out from under the covers onto the floor, being extra cautious to avoid waking her pets. She slipped a thin sweater over her camisole and pulled on some yoga pants found tossed on the floor. Stepping into her runners, she laced them quickly.

Quietly, she lifted her window and crawled through onto the fire escape. Swiftly up the stairs, she reached the roof, encased in darkness. The air was crisp and cool on her hot skin, refreshing her senses. The night a welcome escape from the hum-drum of the day. She sat down on the edge of the building, her legs swinging in the open breeze. The symphony of the city ringing in her ears, far away sirens and flashing lights. She let herself go in that moment, just a moment, breathing in the sounds.

"Harleen." That voice. She didn't bother turning around. Only one person other than the batman called her that. Batman's little sidekick. Well, one of his little sidekicks.

"What do you want now?" She kept her gaze on the city below, reeking of sin and bloodlust.

"I came to apologize."

"For what?"

"For this afternoon." This afternoon? Her memories were scrambled, faded, hazy. She couldn't recall this afternoon. She didn't even know what time it was now, only that it was night.

"Why?" She feigned knowledge while trying to work out exactly how she got home. The last thing she could remember…

"Because it's inappropriate. For me to kiss you. Twice." The first time in the apartment, the second…She couldn't remember the second. What happened today?

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand, desperately racking her brain for anything that would give some insight onto her afternoon, on how she came to have returned home, tucked carefully into bed. Was there a note? A sign? If someone brought her, they would have had to have gotten past the hyenas…_Joker. _Loud sirens echoing closer to the building, breaking her of her concentration. "You should be attending to that." She turned around to address him, but he was already gone. She made her way back to her room, taking inventory of the cramped space. Looking for something, anything out of the ordinary. Nothing.

She slumped down at her desk, head in her hands as she wondered what her next move would be. Was he after her about the book? The stupid love story she was writing? It was slightly becoming true, in same strange way. At least in part. She looked up at her typewriter. Nothing had moved, nothing changed. Her hands playing with a matchbook absentmindedly. _Matchbook…? _She looked down at its elegant design, blue with black and gold detailing, 'Iceberg Lounge' in bold art deco letters. She knew where she needed to go.

* * *

She always had a soft spot for the Iceberg Lounge with its seedy criminal element. The decadent décor was reminiscent of the 1920s, cool mints and accents of black and white. The air thick with the smoke and haze of cigars while cigarette girls wandered around in tight corsets and fishnet stockings, trays balanced on their elegant hands. Beautiful femme fatales and angelic ladies donning expensive designer gowns, keenly available for purchase to keep a lonely man company for the night. Everything about the place screamed luxurious gangster and the erotic lull of the underworld. She used to love coming here with the Joker. The place was a perfect complement to his _avant garde_ style. Now it made her feel a little nostalgic.

Up an ornament spiral staircase were a row of bedrooms and offices. Following her memory, she followed the long hallway to the back, fingers tracing along the walls, recollections of lustful nights scratched into their lavish surfaces.

"_I need the cash, I need the work…"_

Oswald's office was similar in continuing the art deco feel with its harsh lines and geometric shapes. He had his back to her when she walked in, pouring a glass of age whisky from a crystal decanter.

"Ms Quinzel, have a seat." The white leather was plush against her back and legs as she sat down. He offered her a glass and she took it, taking a sniff and feeling the harsh fumes hit deep in her chest.

"Harley. Or, if you insist on formalities, then I would prefer you use my hard-earned title." He frowned slightly.

"Very well, Dr Quinzel. Do you know why you are here?" She bit her lip. She had an inkling. Oswald took that as her admission. "It's not good for business, Dr Quinzel, for one of my employees to be seen fraternizing with someone such as Nightwing. When I gave you that job, I thought I was clear in making it understood that by working for me, you are involved with the professional criminal underworld, and therefore should stay away from villain and vigilante play." She nodded her head. She had fucked up. Big time. She closed her eyes briefly with head down, waiting for him to drop the axe.

"Did you have a nice nap?" Her eyes snapped open. That was how she got home. One of Penguin's men, not…_him. _"No recollection? Should be more careful, Dr Quinzel or you could end up in a very nasty situation…" Promise behind that threat. Oswald never believed in empty threats, this she knew. She straightened up her posture in her seat, feeling anxious and on edge. He moved on. "Since you insist on falling into old habits, we are going to make use of some of your…better skills."

"Skills?" He tapped a pen on the desk. "Yes Dr. Quinzel. I have a heist and you are going to execute it."

"Oswald-"

"That's Mr Cobblepot."

"Mr. Cobblepot." She corrected herself. "When I left Arkham, it was on the condition that I would not be returning to particular activities…such as heists."

"Dr. Quinzel, you don't have much of a choice in this matter. You either do this for me, or you'll be out on the streets."

"Then I'll take the streets." She stood up and headed for the door, her hand grasping the ebony handle tightly.

"You've already jeopardized your freedom Dr Quinzel, when you started working at that excuse for a gymnastics club. Everyone knows that it's a place for money laundering. The cops don't have proof, of course, but it has a reputation. Do you know what that means?" Her heart sank.

"It means I have a reputation…"

"That's right. So why don't you sit back down, and we'll work out a contract." Always the professional businessman, Oswald Cobblepot. Taking her seat, she looked down at the sheets of blueprints and papers Oswald pushed towards her. "Now, I like to keep an eye on the crime sprees in Gotham. I like to know whose murdering who, who's stealing what and how they are doing it. You see, I think it's important to always know who I can potentially contact to perform a particular job, if needed." He leaned back in his seat, lighting an embellished quellazaire. "Selina is the best thief Gotham has ever seen, but difficult to work with. For psychological torment, I'd hire Dr. Crane, though he seems to have a preference for solitude. If I needed an eco-terrorist, Pamela would be the woman to hire." He tapped the long end of his quellazaire into the ash tray. "Now, as much as I may not care for the Joker, some of his…accomplishments we could say can be considered works of art. What is interesting about YOU my dear, is your ability to organize and fulfill some of these masterpieces, a feat in itself." She was taken aback. Normally her skills, her abilities were ignored or unacknowledged. If the Joker knew that someone was complimenting her rather than him concerning his endeavors, he'd have a fit.

"So…what do you need me to do? Blow something up?"

"No Dr Quinzel, it's a heist, a thieving heist. And I don't trust the likes of Selina to do this, you are my other best option." She looked up from the blueprints, confusion etched into her face. "Now I know that many of the things you and the Joker do are about theatrics, attention, anarchy. But I also know, that there have been a number of bank robberies and heists over the years that have gone relatively unnoticed, no Joker trademarks, no interference with Batman. Quiet jobs that have often been blamed on Selina, though we know that banks are not her thing." He leaned forward in his chair. "I know that those have been orchestrated by you to maintain funding for the Joker's rather expensive expenditures."

"Well…I guess I am pretty go-"

"Do not get too ahead of yourself, Dr Quinzel" He interrupted vehemently. "I have robbed a number of banks myself over the years; I know how it's done." He tapped the top blueprint with the quellazaire. "We're going to spend some time going over some of these and you're going to formulate plans for them." She rubbed her forehead, already feeling the beginnings of tension headache coming. It was going to be a long night..."

* * *

Hours later, he was sufficiently satisfied. It was only after Harley had gone over various blueprints and plans for different heists that he told her they were all hypothetical, most that had already been completed. She was not amused. "I've just spent three hours going over these, constructing strategies and contingency plans for variables. What was the point?"

"My dear Dr. Quinzel, I needed to be sure you knew what you were doing. I'm a shrewd businessman, I wasn't just going to give you the heist straight away for you to run off and reap the benefits yourself. We still have a contract to sign."

"What makes you think I wouldn't just sign that contract and fuck off anyways?"

"Because my dear, my people will hunt you down…Even the criminal world has a code of conduct." He pushed the contract towards her. "This contract stipulates that you will perform a number of heists to be negotiated by us at this moment. You will be paid for your time to organize and develop these heists as well as a 10% cut once they are completed. If needed, we can arrange for additional funds for any accessories or work needed to complete these effectively."

That shocked her. She was used to just getting a limited cut, or sometimes nothing but whatever the Joker gave her as some strange form of allowance. "You will continue writing your book and working as a coach in the gymnastics club to provide a cover for these activities. I do not want to attract any unwanted attention."

He stood up, the lighting and shadows in the room making him appear taller then he really was, or maybe it was the chair she was sitting in. Either way, he looked frightening. "You will refrain from leaving any form of calling card to indicate that you, Harley Quinn have committed these heists. If necessary we will arrange for particular ones to be 'framed.' But I do not want Gotham City Police or Batman's crew of vigilantes to know that we are the ones doing this." Leaning over her now, he cupped her face with his maimed hand. "Do you understand?" She nodded her head. No trademarks. No calling cards. Nothing to make connections between her known identity and the crime sprees. "Now, while we negotiate, would you like a lawyer present?"

"I haven't got a lawyer."

"Not to worry my dear, I've got three, you can use one of mine."

"Doesn't that….nevermind. Okay." Defeated the purpose, if they are worked for him. But she wasn't going to continue to be difficult. Not at this juncture. With a press of a button, two lawyers appeared at Penguin's office, circling him and murmuring amongst themselves as they poured over the contract. She took that moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath. The bastard had her cornered. She needed to stay calm and not lash out. But she also needed to get the most out of this that she could.

"Lodgings."

"Hmm?" All three men looked up at her. She straightened up her posture.

"I need better lodgings. Something with space, and greenery. Lots of greenery." Oswald raised an eyebrow.

"I'll see what I can do." She nodded her head and slouched back down. She hoped this wouldn't take too much longer.


	7. Paradoxical Love

**Author's Note: Sorry guys, I get really busy with PhD stuff and teaching so I don't always have the time to write/can write. **

Reviews welcome, constructive criticism welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy! I don't own anything.

**C****hapter 7: Paradoxical Love**

He was observing her again in the dark, fighting inner demons as to whether he should leave or stay. It was late, the moon sitting high in the sky, soft streams of glowing light shining down through the high windows of the gym. Beautiful, she looked, the way she moved. Grayson always had a bad habit of getting involved with women that he shouldn't be near.

It had been a few weeks since their last encounter, and word on the street was that Harley Quinn was back in the crime game.

"I know you are here." She pushed herself into a handstand, holding the movement and waiting for him to step from the shadows. "What do you want Nightwing?"

"I know you are behind the recent heists at some of the major city banks." Of course he knew, he knew everything.

"If you know then why haven't you apprehended me yet?" Stretching on the matt, she eyed him curiously. "Or why aren't you cuffing me right now." He didn't respond but took another step forward. "What is it that you want?" He was next to her now, she could smell the faint aroma of sweat and latex. He had been fighting, or running. She stood from her position, stretching her leg high above her head. "You're a voyeur, like to watch. That's your thing, isn't it?" She stepped forward and pressed her body against him, curving her limbs around him, running her fingers down his chest. She stepped onto the tips for her feet, her lips pressed against his ear. "What do you want, Nightwing?"

He couldn't tell her, only show her.

* * *

The fans swirled slowly above their heads, the repetitive noise comforting, adding to the symphony of their heavy panting. The moonlight peaked through a small window at the top of the gymnasium, shadows dancing along their tangled limbs. The gym matts cool against their feverish skin.

"Will you go back to him?" A question she always hated, always dreaded. One that everyone asked her. She stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan rotate around.

"Why does it matter?" She sat up, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, hair tousled in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

"What do you mean?" He sat up; making sure his mask was still in place, grateful for the dark.

"Why do you care whether or I not I go back to him? This doesn't mean anything." She turned away from him her eyes focused on some unknown object in the distance.

"Harleen we've had sex-"

"Surely you can't believe that you are the first person I've been with since being with him in all that time I've been running around this city." That stunned him. But he found himself puzzled as to why her admission came as such a shock. After all, she had surprised him in many other ways, so why was this so astounding and troubling? It wasn't as if he hadn't had his own string of affairs and lovers.

"I don't understand Harleen, you've always demonstrated such fierce devotion to him. I would have never have thought…" He trailed off. Flashes of Pamela Isley in his mind. Voluptuous, seductive. Rumours of the two of them. Ivy always protecting Harley Quinn.

"Devotion is not always about monogamous commitment." She turned back towards him. Studying him intensely. "I am his. Always. That will never change. But how that is understood, how that is interpreted, how that is constituted in physical reality is never the same."

"I still don't understand Harleen…." She turned her attention to him.

"How would you describe him, that day you caught me in my room about to smash his head in with a typewriter?" Grayson took a moment to try and remember. The Joker was angry, emotional. He appeared almost childish, immature, physically destructive, not capable of controlling himself.

"Well…he was, kind of all over the place I guess. Pissed off, uninhibited, almost deranged."

"And when you went to see him at Arkham?" How did she know?

"Different. Calm, collected…sure of himself. Arrogant but controlled. Restrained…Manipulative…He didn't seem to care that I-" He stopped himself. She didn't press. Maybe she already knew.

"When the Joker has a mood swing, it's like his whole personality changes. Sometimes, sometimes you just have to hold on for dear life in the tornado that he brings…You have to adapt yourself to match him, mold with him. With the Joker, you can't stay the same. Never the same…" She trailed off, lost in thought now.

Such complexity. It made sense, in some strange way. In how in the span of a moment, the Joker could display such extreme emotions of jealousy and possessiveness about Harleen to complete apathy and disinterest. How she could declare fidelity some days and hatred in others. Were they really that unstable, that unhinged?

"So if he changes, constantly, how can you be sure that you are always his? That he'll always see you in that way? How does that never change?" He was struggling to keep up with her train of thought, jumping from discussions of absolutes to uncertainties.

"He doesn't. Sometimes, I'm nothing. But just because I know that I am his, doesn't mean I'll always be the same. How I understand that, it changes, shifts, moves in different paths. Constant movement. Sometimes I am his, both physically and mentally. Sometimes we fight on opposing teams, but are still intricately connected. Sometimes he's just that voice, that all-consuming need at the back of my head." She looked down at the matts, scratching patterns with her nails. "Do you know what it's like to be an addict?"

In some way he did. An addict to execute revenge on the death of his family. Addicted to upholding justice when the law failed. He remained silent. She continued.

"I like to think of it as the social comprehension or the medically classified definition of an addiction or a disorder. You know, like bulmia or alcoholism. It never goes away. You'll never not be a bulimic or an alcoholic. You can overcome it, sure. You can cope. Avoid triggers. But it's always there, at the back of your head. You know that you can relapse, and you do. Sometimes it's slow; you don't even notice what's happening. And other times it's instantaneous." She looked up, the moon illuminating her soft features. "It's not an addiction or a disorder though. But it's the best way I can explain it. The Joker and I, we are meant for each other, built for each other, molded. It doesn't matter how long I stay away, where I go, what I do. I may never see him again. But he'll always be there, at the back of my head. There will always be a part of me that loves him, understands him. There will always be a part of me that just knows that we belong together, no matter how much I sometimes try to fight it." She sighed softly.

"Leave then. Leave this city. This country. If that's what it takes to keep you safe-"

"Nightwing, you don't get it. I'm not trying to leave him, not really. I'm just…taking a breather. Maybe that means I'll never see him again. Maybe it means that I'll go back and break him out tomorrow. I don't know."

"Harleen, I don't understand. What has changed since you were released? Just a few weeks ago you were trying to change, trying to rid yourself of all your demons. Insisting that you didn't need anyone's help, that you can do this on your own!"

"You really don't get it, do you? There are no demons. He's not a bad influence on me. I wasn't some naïve, stupid doctor that was pathetically manipulated and warped, which is what everyone believes. Which maybe even sometimes I believe. I don't know. I don't know anymore…." Head placed in hands, eyes shut to block out the world, just the low hum of the ceiling fan creating white noise. She needed to concentrate, she was losing focus. Grayson's own mind was dazzled, confused. Too many ideas swirling around in his head, he needed to make some sense of it.

She could sense him. The air had changed. _He_ was here…

"You should go." She turned her attention to Grayson. "I just, I need to be alone right now." He nodded his head, oblivious to the third presence hovering over her, sickening with its grasp around her throat. Silently he dressed, Harley watching him intently.

"Can I see you again?" A sad smile graced her lips.

"Sure…" She didn't mean it. Never meant anything. But he didn't know this. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them a moment later, he was gone.

* * *

"Quite a show you can put on…" She pulled the ratty blanket she found tighter around herself. Standing still, she watched him step out from the shadows, his Arkham uniform hanging off of his thin frame. "So my little Harley, you've been up to a number of things since we last saw each other." One hand reached out and signaled her to come to him. Reluctantly, she walked over until they were a foot apart. His dark eyes drilling into hers. "How's that book coming along?"

"Good." His fingers brushed her cheek and smoothed her disheveled hair.

"Working for the penguin I hear. Staying out of trouble?"

"I needed the cash."

"Running around town with little birdies as well." She swallowed, maintaining eye contact with him but said nothing. "Did you enjoy it?" A menacing smile. She remained silent. She had lost before they had even started speaking. "No? Why not? He's quite handsome, muscular, built. He certainly enjoyed himself." Joker leaned forward and cupped her face. "No, you didn't enjoy it. I could see that. In your performance. Forced. Sure you got off. But…" He licked his lips, his face inches from hers. "You were thinking of someone else. Wishing it was someone else. Weren't you my little puppet?" He wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her against him. "Were you thinking me my little Harley Quinn? Thinking about how much better it would have been, had it been me?"

He ran a finger down her bare stomach and cupped her intimately. "Just talking about it now is making you all wet…isn't it?" He slid his thumb across her clit, making her arch her back and hiss softly. "Yes…yes that's exactly it…He murmured, tracing circles over her clit, his other hand holding her steady. "Wanton little thing aren't you…always coming back to Daddy for more…"She whimpered softly when he applied slightly more pressure. He bent down to trail his lips across her neck, up to her ear. "Daddy has to go now sweetheart. But you know where to find me…" He pushed her away, smirking when she lost her balance and fell to the floor. "You know my little Harley, you really need to keep working on your balance. You always seem to have such trouble!"

He disappeared into the shadows, leaving her broken mind alone. Harley was slipping, she could feel it. She was losing it again. She wondered how long it take this time.


End file.
